


Shakespeare in the Park

by Lady Day (day221b)



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/day221b/pseuds/Lady%20Day
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A <i>“What If?</i>” Castle Scene.  Baby steps are taken.  Slowly, an action hero is about to be born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shakespeare in the Park

**Author's Note:**

> Full Title: Shakespeare in the Park ~~(With Diamonds)~~  
>  Beta’d by the amazing [](http://ecto-gammat.livejournal.com/profile)[**ecto_gammat**](http://ecto-gammat.livejournal.com/) and [](http://annlarimer.livejournal.com/profile)[**annlarimer**](http://annlarimer.livejournal.com/). These two are the best in the biz! Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.  
>  Warnings: American spellings, humor, and strong language  
> Pairings: Pre-slash: Nicholas/Danny  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and I make no money. This is done purely as a labor of love.

\--

Police Constable Danny Butterman jerked the passenger side door of his VW open and yanked Lurch from the vehicle. Slamming the door shut, he maneuvered the taller man's massive bulk ahead of him. The black cloak bunched tightly in his grip as he marched the lumbering giant along, giving the man a right proper dressing-down.

"...and wait until Dad hears all of this, you miserable twonk."

Danny wasn't normally stern, or given to tirades. Even now his harsh words had more of a chiding quality about them; they were spoken gently and lacked any real heat. Lurch, real name Michael Armstrong, aka the Somerfield trolley boy was a bit slow in the head, and Danny was the least likely man in the world to go kicking a bloke when he was down. (Although he did believe the situation warranted a good verbal thrashing.)

"And wha’ do y’think your mum an' sister will say when she finds out?” He tugged on the cloak for emphasis. “Or, Mr. Skinner?"

At this Lurch gave a small, pitiful little _yarp._

Danny was fairly fluent in Lurch’s simple language and was good at carrying on long conversations with the giant. It wasn't like it was any kind of superpower; anyone in the village could do it if they tried. It was all in listening to the different inflections and watching his body language and keeping eye contact.

This particular inflection bespoke of genuine fear. Danny wasn’t sure how Lurch would react to his mum and sister knowing, but Michael Armstrong thought Simon Skinner hung the moon.

Danny shook his head sadly in response.

"Well, you shoulda thought of tha' before goin’ all Mister-Joshua-from- _Lethal Weapon_ -like and assaultin’ a policeman-officer."

They’d forged ahead a couple of paces before he added, "And don't go gettin’ me started on what you've done to that poor man's peace lily!"

And if that bit of chastisement was given with a little more feeling than the rest of his what-for, well Danny was only human, now weren’t he?

"Naaarp!" Lurch denied, indignant.

The reply came out a little too snappish-sounding for Danny’s liking. He halted their march and turned the other man around to face him.

"Now I won't be havin’ any of your guff, Mr. Michael Armstrong, sir. You’ll get no sympathy from me. I have half a mind to stop being all civil about this and put those cuffs on those massive wrists of yers like you deserve."

Lurch made a grumbly, growling kind of noise low in his throat. As scare-the-pants-off-of-you warnings went, it wasn't a very effective one.

The trolley boy twisted savagely in Danny’s grip.

"Oi! Hang on..."

Danny tightened his hold, white-knuckling it, but Lurch's actions were so unexpected and violent that he easily tore free.

At the sudden loss of resistance, Lurch stumbled backwards a few paces before his own momentum carried him off his feet, windmilling his arms the entire way down. He hit the ground with an undignified _yarp._

Danny could only stare down in bewilderment.

"You aw’right?"

There was that low growl again.

With a deep-throated, animalistic roar, Lurch sprang to his feet. He whirled around, his robe flapping and flying about, all _Matrixy_ -like.

Danny flinched back, genuinely startled, and wondered if he was about to have his head panned in.

There was a grim set to the other man’s jaw and a hardness about his eyes that Danny didn't like. He’d witnessed Lurch having temper tantrums in the past, but never one quite like this.

Lurch took a menacing step forward and Danny instinctively raised his arms. Whether it was in self-defense or a simple, placating gesture, he wasn’t sure.

A beefy arm swung out and thick fingers made a grab for Danny’s throat.

“Hey! Watch it!” Danny ducked back out of the way.

Lurch shot him a baleful glare.

The look was what finally did it, sending a chill crawling all the way up Danny’s spine. That look had been murderous.

Suddenly their size difference had never been more profound. Lurch was towering over him like the Jolly Green Giant off his veg. As one might expect, he wasn't looking all that jolly – though he did appear a bit green in a concussed, bloodied-forehead sort of way. Maybe the injury was affecting his mind. The thought of fugue states flashed through Danny's head.

All of what he knew of fugue states came from the cinema. It was one of those plot devices used in thrillers where a bloke's partner always wound up a goner. He didn’t much care for them.

"Lurch!" he shouted, trying to snap the man out of it. "It's me!"

Nothing.

He gestured wildly towards himself. "It's Danny!"

Danny debated running, but given the circs, that seemed like a very bad idea. If he ran, it would be nothing for Lurch to catch up to him, not with those pair of stilts the fellow had for legs.

"Danny Butterman?” He tried again. “Y’know, the Inspector's boy?" he asked hopefully.

Lurch stopped.

The air still crackled with tension. Impending violence seemed to loom and pepper the air. Lurch regarded Danny with an odd, considering expression.

A flash of insight, and Danny knew that whatever had stopped Lurch was only temporary. Whatever was wrong with that normally child-like mind needed to be taken care of, and fast.

He had to think. Had to get things under control.

Fear coiled around his innards. He wasn’t accustomed to a whole lot of thinking. It wasn’t in his nature to be the man with the plan, but he knew when enough was enough.

There was real policing to be done. He was panicked, true enough, but there was a small flutter, a thrill of excitement there, too.

It made him think of his partner.

The last time he'd seen Nicholas Angel, the sergeant's face had been streaked with blood. There had been a wild and hunted look in his eyes that hadn’t sat well with Danny.

Nicholas had obviously come out the victor in whatever kerfuffle happened back in his room, but an unbidden mental image of Lurch’s powerful fingers latching onto the vulnerable flesh of Nicholas’ neck and squeezing hard popped into Danny’s brain.

It did funny things to his insides.

Nicholas might have been something of a supercop back in London, but Danny couldn't suppress his protective surge at the thought of his partner caught unawares and at the mercy of Michael Armstrong come unglued.

He could still see the busted-up peace lily inside the sad little chalk outline he'd drawn for it back at The Swan.

And here, somewhere, was poor Nicholas running blindly into fuck knew what all.

_“Watch him, and call your dad. Tell him that I was right.”_

What had he been right about?

Nicholas had suspected Skinner of offing Leslie Tiller. Only it hadn’t been Skinner who’d done the deed.

_Michael Armstrong thought Simon Skinner hung the moon..._

Heart pounding, he felt his skin prickle: it had been completely obvious to anyone with eyes to see. _Because -_

Michael Armstrong thought Simon Skinner hung the moon.

“Fuck me!”

Was that it? Had he figured it out?

Another thought flashed, as crazy-desperate as the first.

All of Nicholas’ ranting and raving over the past several weeks were beginning to make a terrible kind of sense.

_Clean-up on aisle twelve..._

His partner was in danger, and the threat wasn’t coming from Lurch.

The skin around his eyes began to tighten.

He stepped forward, purposefully closing the gap between Lurch and himself until they were standing chest to massive torso. He looked up into those ragey sockets and stood his ground.

With a confidence he didn’t feel, Danny narrowed his eyes and gave the other man a hard, knowing look.

"Time to pack it in, yeah?" The words were soft and precise, barely above a whisper. Danny's tone had changed, all dangerous and sharp. There was a fierce edge about it that had never been there before.

It made Lurch falter, suddenly unsure. He’d heard the change in Danny, too; he saw the challenge reflected back and had the sense enough to look – if not _afraid_ – then certainly surprised.

Danny stared the behemoth down with all the bold assertiveness he could muster, copying every action film hero he'd ever seen, copying _Nicholas,_ until it was Lurch who was forced to break eye contact.

The murderous tension burst like a balloon.

It felt fan-fucking-tastic, a real adrenaline-pumping-thrill-ride-action-adventure cinema rush for him.

Danny jumped when he felt a gentle hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turned around to stare into the eyes of his father.

"Dad!"

His dad shot Lurch a sour look before regarding Danny affectionately, standing all proud and tall-like - the very essence of the modern day policeman-officer.

Danny beamed. Finally! Here was the cavalry. Everything was going to be fine now. It would all be turning up roses. Together, he and his dad would stop Simon Skinner and Lurch from whatever it was those two murderous twats thought they were up to. They'd save Nicholas. His partner would be grateful and maybe a little proud of Danny’s whole deductive-reasoning bit. Maybe Nicholas might even be happy again after a fashion. He'd smile that smile that made the skin around his eyes go all crinkly.

The thought made Danny tingly inside.

The village would cheer, and Nicholas would finally be accepted. And if Danny were really lucky, Nicholas might actually _want_ to remain in Sandford.

He'd been rambling on to his father about his suspicions and about Nicholas. Then it dawned on him. He'd never had the chance to call his dad like Nicholas had wanted. Only now did it start to filter in that his father had been talking over him the entire time, tossing around words like _sacrifice_ and _the greater good._

Danny frowned in confusion, stopping short. He was trying to catch up with all of what was being said when Simon Skinner appeared from around a hedge, stalking forward, directly behind his father’s back.

There was no time to shout, but he did it anyway.

"Dad!"

Or, he thought he'd shouted, but it had only come out as a strangled squeak.

In the space of a heartbeat he'd drawn his truncheon to protect his father. Only, in his panic, he'd completely forgotten about Lurch.

His weapon was viciously knocked away and a moment later he was grabbed from behind, the pressure Lurch exerted on his chest forcing all the air from his lungs.

The tables had turned and now _he_ was the partner who was the goner.

Fuckin’ thrillers. Full of twists and turns enough to make a bloke’s head spin.

Nicholas was running around somewhere like a fucking loon while all the proper action and shit was going down right here.

Bloody brilliant.

Later, Nicholas would stumble over their bodies. And since Danny was an eternal optimist and always hoped for a happy ending, or at least one where the bad guys got theirs, he half-wondered if his death would send Nicholas spiraling into a rampage of Seagalese, Gibsonesque, or even Willisian proportions. Danny had broken through Nicholas' defenses; he knew he had. He’d made Nicholas laugh. Had gotten him to switch off. His partner had even gone and bought him a peace lily for his birthday. They'd bonded.

He wondered if Nicholas would rock him gently and cry like in the movies.

Danny could imagine Nicholas' eyes. They were always so fucking expressive. They were the most vulnerable thing about him, those eyes. Lately they'd been troubled, confused, distressed. Only this time the distress would be brighter - shinier.

It would be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Except Danny would miss it, being dead and all.

But at least his father would see. His father would see, too late, that Nicholas had been right.

His dad glanced casually over at Skinner, his eyebrow raised.

Skinner scowled, the smug git, and inclined his head.

His father, in turn, shook his head in Danny’s direction.

Silent communication, all.

Lurch let Danny go.

There was a sense of unreality over the entire situation. Some dark _thing_ he still wasn’t seeing that he knew somehow was inherently wrong.

Danny was still too shocked over his not being _done in_ to pay his father any mind. His dad was speaking again, had been talking for a few moments, actually, but Danny was only now picking up on the bits and pieces.

He squinted over at him, trying to focus his attention, wary of Skinner watching him all quiet-like. It was eerie. The grocer was many things, but he was never quiet.

"...I'm afraid, son, that your Nicholas Angel has tendered his resignation.”

Stunned, Danny could only whisper, "He wha’?"

His father's eyes were full of compassion. "He's going to leave us, son. He intends on returning to London in the morning."

Danny shook his head, a sudden ache in his chest. He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

"But, Dad! No. Listen. Doncha see? Nicholas is onto somethin.' He's here right now!"

The tension in the air was back, along with more silent communication that Danny didn't understand.

Skinner folded his arms, snickering to himself. He shook his head in amusement. "Tenacious..."

"I realize you've already formed quite the attachment to the little..." His father chuckled before continuing. "...thorn in my side."

"I-I don't geddit."

"Of course, he doesn't, Frank," growled Skinner. "Be reasonable. This isn't precisely the most appropriate time to be bringing him into the fold."

Danny glared at the man. Pointing, he shouted, “You shut it!”

"Don't be an idiot!" his father barked at the same time. He whirled to face the grocer, his back stiff. "It's a fitting and most appropriate trial by fire. Why not give our Sergeant Angel a little show, something to occupy his mind, hmm? Go on and inform the others."

Skinner scowled at them for a moment. Then, he heaved a dramatic sigh. He turned, his cloak swirling around him as he stalked off into the darkness.

"Others?" Danny asked his dad, his eyes wide. "Wha' others?"

"I wished to spare you from this. But sacrifices must be made. For the greater good."

His dad turned back to him, his expression grave. A knife was carefully placed into his palm. Danny looked at it blankly before glancing back to his father, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm so sorry, Danny, my boy. But Nicholas is going positively stir crazy 'round here. Before long he'll be quite mad. You've seen it. Happened with Sergeant Popwell, too, if you recall. These big city types just aren't cut out for this kind of life. Things are too quiet. They can't help but go around chasing after shadows. It's time to end his suffering."

"With a knife?" Danny asked, incredulous. He eyed the weapon. “Bit pointy, innit?” Sure he wanted to help Nicholas get that great big melon of his to shut off every once in awhile, but lobotomy seemed a bit extreme. Besides, he liked Nicholas' mind the way it was. It was amazing!

And that wasn't even the point. Didn't his dad see that Simon Skinner was a smug, smarmy, murdering bastard? That Lurch was Skinner's very own personal Luca Brasi? And they'd just allowed Skinner to walk away. He and Lurch were both kitted out like gothic-chic fetishist death monks for fuck's sake. He highly doubted they were playing at Shakespeare in the Park. Why Skinner hadn't gone all Hans Gruber on their arses and ordered Lurch to _have at it_ was beyond him.

None of this was making any sense. Was his father so blind that he couldn't see what was right in front of him? Realizing he was going to have to spell it out, Danny thrust the knife back. He was going to need both hands for this conversation. Debate. Argument? He wasn't even sure at this point.

"But, Dad - !"

“Danny, it's time for you to grow up!" his dad shouted furiously.

Shocked, Danny flinched.

His father blinked, and the hostility was gone.

"Forgive me. You know I love you. It pains me to be so blunt, but it's high time for some honesty. Nicholas isn’t your friend. He doesn't even know what that means. There's nothing on earth that would tempt the good sergeant to stay here. Not willingly, of course." His father shook his head sadly for emphasis, giving him a significant look. "Nothing at all."

Having the probable truth spelled out for him left a heavy feeling in the pit of Danny’s stomach. Honesty or not, those words hurt. His eyes stung. So much for the power of _Point Break_ and _Bad Boys 2._

His father's eyes were searching and full of compassion.

"A pity, really. Friendship with you might have done him a world of good. It might have even inspired devotion given time, but our Nicholas isn't like that. He's far too stubborn." His dad sighed and handed the knife back, gently closing Danny’s hand around the hilt. "Stiff upper lip now, son. It's all for the greater good."

“What exactly are you sayin'?” He already had a pretty good picture, the implication was clear enough. He wasn't stupid. A bit simple-minded, perhaps, but not stupid. Untested. But this - this was his _dad._  


"I think I've devised a way for you to keep him here forever..."

"Oh my God!"

Danny looked down at the knife. He glanced back up at his dad and even turned around to warily eyeball Lurch. Sergeant Popwell, Nicholas, Lurch, Skinner and now even his father. Was there something in the water? When had everyone in this village gone ‘round the fucking bend?

His dad had mentioned others. Just what was Nicholas running into? He answered the question himself. A trap. With all this talk of sacrifices and the greater good, he realized he'd been thrust arse-over-teakettle into the holy fucking shit aisle over at the HMV, landing smack-dab in between _The Wicker Man_ and _Troll 2._

Danny wiped bitterly at a spot of moisture coming from his eyes. His dad was right about one thing: he needed to grow up, and now seemed like as good a time as any. He and Nicholas might not be friends, but they were partners just the same. And his partner needed him. It was up to Danny to save him and make sure he got far away from Sandford.

Danny bit at his lower lip, his knife-free hand fumbling around nervously inside his jacket pocket.

He lifted the weapon, squeezing the hilt gently, getting a feel for it. The blade was a solid weight in his hands.

Being stabbed had been the single most painful experience of Nicholas' life. He knew what it felt like. And what it didn't.

Danny’s fingers brushed up against a condiment sachet.

He watched, fascinated as the blade glinted in the moonlight.

Shiny.

_O happy dagger! This is thy sheath..._

That bit had been left out of the play he'd seen with Nicholas; though Romeo and Juliet was supposed to have knives in there somewhere, weren’t it? He thought he remembered that from school, anyhow.

Evie Draper had been so beautiful, even if she did go for older blokes. A right proper angel, she was. (Except for the whole adultery business.)

Blonde hair and blue eyes. She couldn’t act to save her skin.

Blond hair and blue eyes. But maybe Nicholas could...

Bitterly, he thought Shakespeare in the Park wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as _Bad Boys 2._ He supposed it would do in a pinch, though. He’d have to ask where he could bag one of them cloaks. Seemed to be all the rage in this company of nutters.

He kept his eyes on the blade, purposefully not looking at his dad. It wasn’t too hard.

Moonlight was captured and then refracted back on his hand. It danced a merry little jig along his skin. Hypnotized, he wondered if Bill Shakespeare had ever believed in magic. He had to have done if he thought a dagger could ever be happy. What was a dagger doing, running around being all happy for anyways?

"Right, then. I s’pose if Sergeant Angel wants to escape Sandford so badly, the least I could do would be to help him along with tha’. Me being his partner, an’ all.”

What he’d said was true. From a certain point of view. He’d revealed his plans. The deception came from how a person chose to interpret his meaning.

He thought he saw a hint of a proud smile forming on his father’s face, but he couldn’t be sure.

“That’s a good boy, Danny. You’ll see. It’s all for the greater good.”

“The greater good,” Danny repeated. Finally, he drew his gaze up to meet his father’s, and grinned darkly.

\--


End file.
